


take a deep breath, swear that you’ll see me again

by cosmicpoet



Series: Does His Love Make Your Head Spin? [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 18:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: Shuichi deals with Kaito's death for a year, and then more.





	take a deep breath, swear that you’ll see me again

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the DHLMYHS universe, so if you haven't read that, then just know that this is set post-Kaito's death, and that Shuichi and Kokichi are in an established relationship! This fic also deals with alcoholism and very unhealthy coping mechanisms, so please check the tags and don't read if it'll be triggering to you.

Shuichi, rain-soaked and leaning against the wall for support, presses the buzzer to Kokichi’s apartment for the fourth time in under a minute, his finger bending unnaturally from the force he’s exerting onto it. As thunder cracks the skies in the distance, he wonders if he missed the lightning, just like he always does. 

“Jesus,” Kokichi’s voice comes from the intercom, “it’s five in the fucking morning.”

“Oh.”

“Shuichi?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck…come up.”

The door clicks open, and Shuichi stumbles through, squinting his eyes until he’s looking through pinholes, just trying to focus on where to step so that he doesn’t fall again. It takes him far longer than it should to navigate the labyrinth that is a modern apartment complex, finally reaching Kokichi’s door, but before he can knock, the door swings open and, losing his balance, Shuichi falls directly into Kokichi’s arms.

“Ha,” he says, weakly, “guess I fell for you.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“I know.”

He manages to look at Kokichi, focusing his eyes just enough so that he can see the pyjamas, the bedhead, the dark circles around his eyes.

“Hey,” Shuichi says, “you’re wearing my shirt.”

“All of mine are dirty.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t know where you were.”

“Oh.”

“It’s been a week.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you’d killed yourself.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you’d been killed.”

“Oh.”

“I thought…my Shuichi…he’s probably choked on his own vomit and died in a gutter somewhere.”

“Kokichi, I…”

“And I thought, maybe I couldn’t save him. Maybe I lied too much, maybe I drove him away, or maybe he just couldn’t be saved.”

“Please, don’t.”

“And I thought, if he comes back, should I take him in again? Let him inside my apartment so he can mess up everything, and how much I would hate him for that, letting him destroy everything just because Kaito died and he doesn’t know how to cope without learning to love the bottom of a bottle. And is that my problem? I’m sure nobody would blame me, but would I blame myself? Am I the fool for falling in love with someone who’d rather be in a bar than with -”

“Stop it. I’ll quit. I promise.”

Shuichi isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light on his blurry vision, but he could swear that Kokichi breathes out a breath he was holding in and smiles a little. He pulls Shuichi out of the doorway and into a desperate hug, holding him up as he gently plays with his hair.

“I was lying,” he whispers, “I never doubted letting you come home.”

Like he was waiting to hear this, Shuichi falls dead asleep.

* * *

In the morning, he’s alone in the bed. There’s a fresh outfit folded on the chair next to him, a glass of water, and some painkillers. He ignores the clothes and instead drinks the water, letting it dribble down his chin in desperate thirst, and then he dry swallows the painkillers. Getting out of bed, he walks into the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and taking a seat across from his boyfriend.

“Don’t lie to me today,” Shuichi stirs his coffee, his shoulders hunched over Kokichi’s dining table, “I’m too exhausted.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Ha. I don’t know whether you’re lying or just trying to be kind.”

“If the result is the same, then it shouldn’t matter.”

“Well, it fucking does.”

“How are you?”

“Hungover.”

“You’re keeping your promise though.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not on this. Not after you promised.”

Shuichi drinks his boiling hot coffee in gulps.

“Go shower,” Kokichi says, “you still smell of alcohol.”

“Right.”

Kokichi’s bathroom is filled with all sorts of things that Shuichi can’t acclimatise himself to. He’s used to simple scents, not the array of bubblegum and candy flavoured shower gels and shampoos, but he’ll make do. Now that he’s not spending all his money on cheap, off-brand whiskey, maybe he can contribute a little to Kokichi’s rent, and then he’ll feel less bad about filling up the drawers with his clothes. The idea of getting his _own_ apartment back is out of the question, and it still stings to think about how he was so drunk that he missed the eviction notice, and how all of the things that he couldn’t fit into four large garbage bags will have been repossessed or thrown out with the trash; old books that his uncle gave him, family photos, even his duvet - something that he didn’t think he’d miss until the temperature dropped outside and the pavement became so much colder and _god,_ the shame he felt asking Kokichi for help. It’s all too much.

He turns the hot water up to the highest setting.

It’s like he wants to wash away all traces of last night, another meaningless Saturday night of drinking straight out of the bottle under the cover of dark alleyways to avoid the police, chasing the feeling of being faded in the same way he has been all week. Still, alcohol doesn’t help him in the way he thinks it used to, or perhaps he’s romanticising memories of his descent into addiction, but either way it’s not like he ever really considered _quitting._ The only end he’s ever seen is the tragic one, where he might have to face Kaito again and say _“I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t do it,”_ but at least it’ll be over.

He made a promise, and he’s regretting it now. The hangover seeps into his whole body, making his legs ache and his head hurt, and it’s right about now that he’d normally reach for the bottle again, hair of the dog becoming one, and two, until he’s drunk again and he may as well continue because there’s nothing left if he doesn’t keep pushing through his own vices to the bitter end.

Once he’s out of the shower, he puts on the clothes that Kokichi laid out for him and tries to make himself look presentable, but he only manages to brush his teeth before all the energy drains out of him and he collapses onto the wet bathroom floor, his back against the wall. Drawing his legs up to his chest, he sobs at what he’s become and how weak he feels about it all, having to rely on substances and isolation to deal with his best friend’s death, ignoring all that he promised himself he would be when he got into a stable relationship - how can Kokichi deal with him, now? How can he possibly be a good boyfriend when he can’t even focus on waking up without worrying about how he’ll feel without touching a drop of alcohol again?

“Hey,” Kokichi says, but Shuichi can’t look up. He must have cried too loud, or left the bathroom door ajar, or something else that means he’s twisted the plot of this pathetic little story into something else to be ashamed of.

He doesn’t respond. He just wants everything to go away.

Instead, he feels Kokichi sit down next to him and put his arm around him; helpless, Shuichi falls into him.

“The first day is the hardest,” Kokichi says.

“That doesn’t mean the second will be better.”

“Yeah, sure. But at least you’ll remember it.”

The idea of being present in his own life crushes Shuichi from the inside, and the only thing grounding him is that he’s falling into Kokichi and not into himself or onto the floor. It’s like he’s stuck, watching the sky fall down upon him, or at least something large and metal and destructive is descending onto him, that will leave no trace of Shuichi Saihara behind - in fact, the only reason he doesn’t dissipate into fiction right now is because he’s terrified of where the responsibility for the world - that he’s only just hanging onto - will be allocated should he die. Even now, it still falls to him to find the truth of the situation and work out where the hell he’s expected to go from here other than further down. Perhaps he would have been a good detective, in another life.

“C’mon,” Kokichi says, “get up.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I _can’t.”_

“Stop lying to yourself.”

“Ha, that’s the first time I’ve heard you say that.”

“Now’s not the time, Shuichi.”

Shakily, he gets to his feet, still clutching to Kokichi. Despite all the times that Kaito told him that it’s okay to lean on those you love for support, he still finds himself flooded with guilt and the overfamiliar feelings of worthlessness at how he grasps for Kokichi’s hand and uses it to steady himself.

He sits on the edge of the bed, playing with his anxious hands, as Kokichi opens the curtains and the window, letting light into the room. Covering his eyes from the sun, Shuichi, on autopilot, grasps for something next to him, finding only emptiness and the wrinkles of the duvet on Kokichi’s bed. Then it dawns on him.

“Where did you sleep last night?”

“Oh, me?” Kokichi asks.

“Yeah. You’ve only got one bed in here.”

“Oh, I wasn’t tired. I just chilled on the couch watching movies.”

“You looked pretty tired when I came in.”

“Nah, you were all out of focus. I’m never tired! Too much energy, y’know? Caffeine’ll be the death of me.”

“Well…you should sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

“I’m going to sleep, so…”

“Then it’s settled! There’s nowhere for me to sleep, so I can’t.”

“Kokichi…we’re boyfriends. How can I be more obvious when I’m telling you that I really don’t want to be on my own right now?”

“Oh…”

“I mean…if you want to…”

“No, I do. I just didn’t know if…y’know…you still wanted…”

“Wanted what?”

“Well…us.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“It’s nothing!”

“No, tell me.”

“Really, it’s nothing at all!”

“I know when you’re lying. That wasn’t one of them. If I’m going to stop drinking, then you have to be honest with me.”

“Well, I just thought…y’know, because we don’t see each other at work since…well, _that._ And you…at least, you used to…go out for weeks and I wouldn’t know where you were and I thought hey, maybe _I’m_ the problem and maybe you don’t want… _this_ anymore?”

“Come here,” Shuichi sits on one side of the bed and opens his arms, ignoring the stomach pains that ripple through him in the absence of a drink, “I’d never want that.”

“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up! Because, ya know, it was…”

“A lie?”

“Mm.”

Shuichi wants to pay back the kindness of today, but all he can do is sit in silence and hope that Kokichi will fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

The next day, long after Kokichi has sprung up out of their bed and into work, Shuichi manages to peel himself off the sheets and into the shower. He’s shaking, simultaneously boiling hot and freezing cold, and the shower doesn’t help in the way that he hoped it would. Although Kokichi had told him that the worst would be over after the first day, he’s thinking now that that was the most well-intentioned lie he’s ever heard.

Still, he doesn’t turn to alcohol. Instead, he drags himself around the apartment and tries to tidy the place up, doing the only thing he can think of to show his gratitude to Kokichi for simply helping him out through all of this.

Halfway through doing the dishes, he’s overcome by more shaking, and the plate he was holding crashes to the ground and smashes across the kitchen tiles. _Fuck._ He tries to sweep it up, but his hands are unsteady and he resorts to crawling across the floor, trying to pick up the pieces with his hands until now the floor is not only messy, but covered in traces of blood.

Clasping his hands together, pushing the shards further into his palms, he screams.

He doesn’t know how many hours pass, but when he hears the door opening, he panics at all the extra work he’s created. When Kokichi comes into the kitchen, he surveys the scene, and Shuichi stares at him, trying to think of something to say, looking for any trace of emotion on his boyfriend’s face to figure out how to make this better.

“I tried to tidy it,” he says. Pathetic.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kokichi smiles too brightly, “I hated that ugly plate anyway.”

He takes a first aid kit from one of the kitchen drawers and sweeps away the broken china so that he can kneel in front of Shuichi, taking his hands and cleaning them up before bandaging them.

“See,” he says, “no harm done.”

“Yeah,” Shuichi echoes, “how was work?”

“Oh, boring as ever. You did the right thing getting out of there.”

“It wasn’t exactly my choice, was it?”

“Doesn’t matter. You left, either way.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? I just told you I hated that plate.”

“Just…you shouldn’t have to take care of me like this.”

“I’m not taking care of you. I’m letting you stay here because you promised that you’d take care of yourself.”

“Right. I’m not doing a great job, am I?”

“You’re doing everything I hoped you would.”

Shuichi notes exactly how Kokichi trembles around the topic of alcohol; he won’t say that he’s proud of Shuichi for not having a drink since Saturday night because he doesn’t want to mention the unmentionable. It feels like he’s walking on the very same glass shards that Shuichi is begging will cut him open.

* * *

A month passes. The six-month anniversary of Kaito’s death comes and goes, and he spends it in bed, too scared to leave the house and visit the grave. A few more months pass. He learns how to feel fresh air again. Another month. The year anniversary looms in just over a month, and he’s terrified.

More terrified than he’s ever been.

Enough to make him want it again. Kokichi is sleeping next to him, the only time that he looks honest and peaceful, and Shuichi plants a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and then leaves the house. Once he’s locked the door behind him, he posts his key through the letterbox, a symbol of not turning back, of making Kokichi’s life better by virtue of leaving it. It’s only once he’s locked out that he realises he never left a note. He could knock on the door, wake his boyfriend up, explain everything that he’s about to do and beg to be let back inside, but that wouldn’t stop the feelings and the desperation, and so he cuts his losses and hopes that Kokichi will be smart enough to figure it all out after he’s gone.

With only a light jacket to protect him from the night air, he finds himself standing in a 24-hour supermarket, the artificial lights illuminating the fear on his face as he browses the alcohol aisle and picks out two bottles of cheap rum.

He doesn’t make eye contact with the cashier. Thank god he’s not asked any questions.

The familiar burning pain feels like home, as he gulps down and finishes one and a half of the bottles. It hits him all too quickly, and half an hour later, he’s stumbling down the streets, his face streaked with tears as he tries to find the perfect place to end it all. He’s saved half a bottle for right before the moment, and as he crosses a bridge over a little river, he decides that it’s now or never. 

Peering over the edge, he looks at the water below, dark and all-encompassing. He wonders whether he’ll die on impact, or if he’ll be allowed the simple pleasure of replacing the air in his lungs with dirty water - disgusting, foul, just like he is. He’ll finally, inside and out, become enough of a plague on society that the water will drag him down in pity, and he’ll be allowed to die.

He pulls the other half-bottle out of his bag and starts to drink from it, never taking his eyes off the water below. Once he’s finished, he feels like he’s about to throw up, and he leans over the edge of the bridge, dropping the bottle and listening intently for it to smash.

It doesn’t.

And just as he’s about to swing one leg over the bridge, he feels someone behind him pulling him to the ground. Thinking it’s Kokichi, he pulls away, but this person pulls harder, and he falls onto his back, being forced to stare at the stars above him.

“What?” Shuichi slurs, looking around to see who pulled him away, but there’s nobody there.

He’s about to try again when the loud noises of a siren disrupt him, and suddenly he’s standing in the crossfire of flashing lights. Before he knows what’s going on, he’s assisted onto a stretcher and wheeled into the back of what he assumes to be an ambulance.

All he wants to do is sleep. There’s a voice telling him to stay awake, but he ignores it.

Maybe he’ll get to see Kaito again, after all.

He’s forced awake, however, by the feeling of something in his throat, pushing all the way down into his stomach. He’s conscious, but not enough to question what’s going on - he just wants to vomit; the pain is unbearable. When his eyes begin to water, he tries to scream, but he’s in the hands of paramedics now, so all he can do is try to remember why he’s here.

He was drinking. He was trying to kill himself.

Oh, _fuck_ , he’s getting his stomach pumped.

The procedure is agonising, even when the tube is removed and he’s forced, in his bleary and weakened state, to drink something that tastes even worse than the alcohol he found no comfort in, and he ends up vomiting. He can only imagine how pathetic he looks, having not even been able to kill himself right.

As he falls into an uncomfortable sleep in the hospital bed, he hopes that he can make it home tomorrow before Kokichi wakes up.

No dice. 

Before he can even open his eyes, he becomes acutely aware that there’s a hand holding his own. Foggily, he tries to remember what happened last night, getting to the point where he finished the first bottle of rum before everything becomes blurry and, eventually, a blackout haze of no memories. However, when he peeks his eyes open a little, and sees that he’s in hospital, he can only imagine what went down, and _god_ he feels guilty for it.

But he was right. Kokichi is next to him.

“Hey,” he mutters, and Kokichi stirs out of his half-asleep daze, still clutching onto his hand.

“Shuichi,” he says, “why?”

“Why not?” 

“Because you were doing so well.”

“Well,” Shuichi laughs bitterly, “that went to shit, didn’t it?”

He immediately regrets it. Whilst he has an easy time being cruel to himself, dismissing Kokichi’s feelings leaves him feeling worthless, and he wants to justify it by saying that he’s still groggy, still figuring out what happened, but no words come.

“I can’t do this…”

“I know,” Shuichi interrupts, “I’m sorry. Please, just leave. It’ll be so much easier, and I promise I’ll still recover, but I don’t want you to hold yourself back on my account, and -”

“Shut up, let me finish. I can’t do this _alone.”_

“Oh?”

“So I talked to the doctors. And I’ve, uh…I’ve booked you into a rehab program.”

“A what? Kokichi…we, I mean, you can’t afford that.”

“Leave all that to me. Between us, I’m one Naruto figure away from getting a raise off Tsumugi anyway. Just tell me you’ll go.”

“It’s…without you?”

“Yes, without me. It’s pretty strict on that.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a two week inpatient course. You’re allowed visitors after the first week, so you can bet I’ll be there the first moment I can. Please, Shuichi.”

“Alright,” he says, “I may as well try it.”

“Thank you.”

“So when does it start?”

“Now, I guess. They’re going to discharge you into the facility, I think.”

“That’s…”

“I know.”

“I can do it.”

“I know you can. That’s not a lie.”

When the doctor comes to take Shuichi to the taxi waiting outside, he hands Kokichi his phone and wallet, knowing that he won’t be allowed them inside rehab.

“Take care of yourself,” Shuichi says, “yeah?”

“You too. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Soon enough, he’s in the back of a taxi, wearing an old pair of jeans and one of Kokichi’s t-shirts that he brought along to the hospital for Shuichi to change into. The rehab centre looms over him, and he undergoes the invasive checks for electronic devices upon check-in, before he’s directed to a small room and given some clothes. At least he’s alone in the room.

Later on, a nurse comes in to welcome him to the facility.

She’s gentle when she talks to him. “Do you want to get changed?”

He shakes his head.

“You know you have to at some point? That shirt,” she gestures, “is it yours?”

“It’s my boyfriend’s.”

“I get it. Letting go of stuff like that when you’re in here is hard.”

“How would you know?”

“Honestly? My girlfriend dealt with addiction. And it was hard to watch, but she…she got better. So working here is a blessing. I get to help people and be the person I wished I could be for her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. It’s kinda my default thing to say.”

“But you have nothing to be sorry for,” the nurse sits next to him, “and you’re doing fine.”

“How do you know?”

“We get patient files every time someone comes here. Yours had a long list of things we should do…your boyfriend obviously cares a lot. He must be the one who complied them.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Hey, anyway, I’ve gotta go finish my rounds. But if you get changed, I promise I’ll get that t-shirt washed and dried before tomorrow, yeah? It’s a promise.”

“I’m not very good at those.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it anyway.”

Shuichi smiles, and when she leaves the room, he gets changed out of Kokichi’s t-shirt. Laying it carefully at the edge of his bed, he changes into the hospital-approved shirt and loose pants. There’s no mirror to look at himself, but he imagines that he looks tired, and he can’t bear thinking about how much he’s let Kokichi and Kaito down by getting to this point in the first place.

His first rehab activity is group therapy. He zones out for most of the stories, until he’s called on to talk, and he stumbles over what he’s supposed to think.

“Uh,” he says, “hi. I’m Shuichi.”

“Hey, Shuichi,” a person next to him, with long black drills in her hair, says.

“Yeah, uh…so I’m here ‘cause I’m trying to get over…addiction. My best friend…died. And I guess I got bad ‘cause of that. Am I done?”

“Hey, tell us more,” the girl next to him says, holding his hand.

“Well, I only felt…normal…when I was drunk. And I suppose I ended up here because I got really bad and I tried to…uh…kill myself.”

“I hear you,” the nurse leading the group therapy says.

“Is that it? I’m done?”

“You can say more if you like.”

“I don’t really want to,” he says, and then falls silent.

The rest of the session passes by quickly, as he drifts away and thinks about other things. When it’s over, he’s ready to go back to his room, but the girl next to him holds his hand again and drags him over to a table in the corner.

“So,” she says, “what’s your real story?”

“That’s it. Genuinely.”

“There must be more than that.”

“Why should I tell you?”

“True,” she laughs musically, “you have no reason to trust me. I’m Celeste.”

“I’m Shuichi. What are you in here for?”

“They call it gambling addiction. I think they put me in here ‘cause I’m just too good and I keep beating everyone at cards.”

“Ha.”

“I’m serious. I even managed to smuggle some cards through here. Wanna play?”

“Sure,” he says.

She’s dealing the cards out before the words have even left his mouth. They play simple, no-stakes card games - he’s wary of triggering any of her habits, and so they don’t put any bets down.

“Hey,” she says, “it’s boring without a wager.”

“Well, we don’t have money in here. And aren’t you supposed to be recovering from a gambling addiction?”

“Maybe so. But we don’t have to bet money. What about a quid pro quo?”

“What do you mean?”

“Winner gets to ask the loser a question.”

“Alright, I guess.”

Celeste deals the cards and they start playing _Snap._

When she wins, he holds his hands up and laughs.

“Okay,” she says, “my question. How did your best friend die?”

“Cancer,” Shuichi says.

“Damn. Another round?”

“Go on.”

She beats him again.

“Next question,” she smiles at him, “what are you going to do when you get out of here?”

“I don’t really know.”

“That’s not a suitable answer. C’mon, you can trust me.”

“I guess…I wanna try and get a job, help my boyfriend out with bills and stuff.”

“That’s nice of you. Next round.”

She lays down the cards and Shuichi is about to put a match down. He notices that she almost shouts ‘SNAP!’, but pulls back just before he, himself, shouts it.

“Wow, I won,” he says.

“Guess you did,” she laughs, “so, what’s your question?”

“Uh…what makes you happy?”

“What?”

“What makes you happy?”

“Apart from gambling?”

“Yeah, apart from that.”

“I suppose you’re making me happy right now,” she says, “and if I’m honest, I don’t have many friends. Is that a satisfactory answer?”

“If it’s all you’re comfortable sharing, then yes,” Shuichi says, “but I suppose it can’t hurt for me to ask you to be my friend. Maybe when we get out of here, we can do something together?”

Celeste laughs. “It may be nice to acclimatise to normal life.”

“Another round?” Shuichi asks.

“Always,” she replies.

They play another round, and naturally, she wins.

“So,” she says, “I want to know. Why are you here?”

“‘Cause my boyfriend booked me in.”

“More than that. Why did you agree to come?”

“Oh,” Shuichi says, sweating, “I guess I didn’t want to let him down. And I _do_ want to get better. It’s just hard.”

“I feel that.”

Soon enough, the nurses are escorting them back to their rooms, and he’s alone again. He gets changed into the pyjamas left for him, noting that the pyjama pants don’t have any strings that he could use for unorthodox purposes. Trying to fall asleep, he stars at the ceiling until, in the darkness of night, there’s a knock at his door.

He opens it. Celeste is there.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

“Look…can we talk?”

“Sure.”

She shuts the door and sits on his bed.

“You remind me of myself,” she says, “a long time ago.”

“Oh?”

“I know that giving up alcohol is going to seem impossible,” she says, “but do it. I’m not asking you to try, I’m asking you to succeed.”

“That’s…”

“Yeah, I know. But you have to do it. Because, chances are, they’ll transfer me from this place to another until they’ve stripped me of everything that makes me myself. But I see my hopes in you. So…before it’s too late, go and grab onto your life. And when I eventually get out of this fucking system, we’ll go for coffee, yeah?”

“A-Alright.”

“Can I stay here tonight?” Celeste asks.

“S-Sure,” Shuichi replies, and she gets into his bed. He lies down next to her, and holds her in the same way that Kokichi held him. It feels like forever ago. She falls into him and, when he hears her lightly snoring, he smiles, thinking that perhaps he can be useful.

The next week is filled with all kinds of therapy, and the withdrawals are hell, but he chooses not to focus on them. Celeste smiles at him across the room whenever they’re together, and he feels like he can _do this,_ until a week has passed and he’s allowed visitors.

When he sees Kokichi, he almost cries.

“Hey,” Kokichi says. They’re sitting at a table in the facility, watched by nurses and security guards, but he feels safe.

“Hey,” he replies, “thank you.”

“What for?”

“This. I think I’m really getting better.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I met this girl. She’s really nice, and we talk a lot. I think when I get out of here, I’ll have…what they call _the tools_ to deal with alcoholism myself.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. That’s what they call it - the tools. Apparently it’s all about me and how I deal with it, but I think I can do it.”

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

“How are things on the outside?”

“You know, same old, same old. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Only a week to go though. I was thinking when you get out I could take us for a meal?”

“I’d like that.”

“There’s a new Thai place that’s opened down the street. We could go there?”

“I don’t want to make you spend any money.”

“Hey, shut up. I got that raise from Tsumugi, so it’s no problem.”

“You sure?”

“Let’s do it.”

“I’m sorry,” Shuichi says, and Kokichi reaches his hands across the table and holds Shuichi tight.

“Hey,” he says, “don’t apologise. We’re in this together.”

“Are we?”

“Of course we are.”

They talk for an hour, and when the nurses announce that visiting hours are over, Shuichi wants to cling onto Kokichi and beg him not to let go. Instead, he just follows orders, and Kokichi looks at him, like he’s begging for something, too.

“Just carry on,” Kokichi says, “yeah? I’m ready to see you again.”

Over the course of the next week, Shuichi really tries. In the therapy classes, he puts his best foot forward, wanting to make his boyfriend proud.

And then, it’s over.

* * *

He holds his clothes over his arms as he stands near the entrance. Remembering what he said to Celeste, he takes a deep breath and, going through the security scans, waits for his boyfriend outside. Kokichi is there, holding his car keys in his hand, and they both can’t stop themselves from running towards one another, enveloping each other in a long hug before they can even get in the car.

Once Kokichi starts driving, Shuichi starts talking.

“I’m done,” he says, “completely. I’m done drinking.”

“Good.”

“I’m serious this time. I’ve got promises to keep to people.”

“Let’s go home,” Kokichi says.

“Yeah,” Shuichi echoes, “about that. Are you okay with me living with you?”

“Always.”

“I’ll ask Tsumugi for my job back. Y’know, to help with bills and shit.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to do it anyway.”

“Then I support you.”

When the car pulls up outside Kokichi’s apartment, Shuichi walks outside. It feels strange to walk around without all eyes on him, and he tentatively pushes through the front door. Kokichi leads him into the living room, where he sees balloons strung up and a _‘WELCOME HOME’_ banner draped across one of the walls.

“Wow,” he says, “you really didn’t have to.”

“We’re celebrating you coming home! Look, I made non-alcoholic punch and I even bought some board games for us!”

“You…really didn’t need to,” Shuichi says, blushing.

“I want to. Besides, I’ve missed you!”

They spend the rest of the night playing old board games and drinking the non-alcoholic peach punch that Kokichi made. When Shuichi falls asleep, he’s sober, and happy in Kokichi’s arms.

“It’s the year anniversary in two weeks,” Shuichi says, Kokichi held tightly in his arms upon waking.

“I know.”

“We should go.”

“To the grave?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Shuichi finds it strange, how Kokichi doesn’t fight back. He imagines that it’s because he’s gone through a lot, but he can’t bring himself to imagine that Kokichi could stop lying for something as pathetic as him. Instead, he just holds him closer.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I know,” Kokichi says, “me too.”

The next few weeks pass, until the anniversary of Kaito’s death creeps up on them both. It’s only a few days away and, desperate to make some kind of promise to his best friend, Shuichi opens up his laptop and composes an email.

**< To ** **TsumugiShirogane@officemail.com** **>**

_Hello Tsumugi,_

_It’s Shuichi. I understand why I was laid off months ago. I’m emailing you now to say that I’ve overcome my alcoholism and it’s been almost a month since I’ve been sober. I’d like to ask for my job back. I understand that this is presumptuous, and I feel awful for having to ask, but I can assure that you that I’m doing a lot better than I was. I can focus on office work and will do a lot better than I was._

_I am looking forward to your response,  
Shuichi Saihara._

He hates having to suck up to her. And then, the next day, he gets a response.

**< To ** **SaiharaShuichi1995@gmail.com** **>**

_Hello Shuichi,_

_It’s nice to hear from you. Myself and the office were worried about you. I understand that you’ve been going through a hard time recently. Would you be free for a meeting next week, perhaps next Tuesday at 2pm? We can discuss things._

_Regards,  
Tsumugi Shirogane._

**< To ** **TsumugiShirogane@officemail.com** **>**

_To Tsumugi,_

_That would be wonderful, thank you._

_Yours,  
Shuichi Saihara._

Shuichi is desperate for a drink, but he settles for the pot of coffee that Kokichi has made.

“We should go to the grave,” he says.

“Yeah,” Kokichi replies.

“I just…I don’t want everyone to know that I had to leave my apartment. Kokichi…teach me how to lie.”

“What do you mean?”

“Teach me how to lie.”

“A-Alright,” Kokichi says, “I can drive us to the grave, and then…then you can get out of the car and go there first, and I’ll turn up later.”

“Thank you.”

“You know I’ll do anything for you.”

When Shuichi approaches Maki, he says all that needs to be said. Besides Kaito’s grave, the promises about staying sober mean so much more than he ever could have imagined. And, suddenly, everyone else is there - even Kokichi - and they’re all almost crying together.

When it’s over, he wants to fall into Kokichi’s arms.

“Hey,” he says, back in their bedroom, “I have a meeting with Tsumugi next week.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I kinda asked for my job back.”

“Shuichi,” Kokichi holds him close, “you don’t need to do that. You know I have enough money to sustain us both.”

“I know, I just…I feel awful, y’know, making you do everything for us.”

“Your recovery took a lot more effort than me just going to that dumb office every day.”

“Still…”

“Of course, go to the meeting. But don’t feel like you have to get your job back. I’ve got more than enough money for both of us.”

“I don’t want to make you look after me.”

“It gives me purpose.”

“And that’s not a lie?”

“It’s not.”

* * *

When the meeting rolls around, Shuichi dresses in his best clothes. Nervous, he steps into the office, such a familiar environment feeling so strange to him, as he walks through the corridors and cubicles until he arrives outside Tsumugi’s office.

She invites him inside.

“Hey,” he says, nervously. She sits opposite him, at the other end of a large desk, her hair pinned back and her suit neatly pressed.

“Hello, Shuichi. So…shall we talk?”

“What about?”

“Let’s start with when you left? What was going on?”

“I…uh…since Kaito died…I…I guess I fell into some bad coping mechanisms.”

“Like what?”

“Drink, mainly. I guess you know that, with…what happened…”

“Ah, yes.”

“And I want to say…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have smuggled alcohol into the office, and much less come in drunk.”

“As much as I want to say it was a violation, I understand it, at least.”

“You do?”

“Kaito made an impact on all of us. It’s understandable that you’d have a hard time dealing with his death.”

Shuichi thinks about what Kokichi said. Does he really have the money to support them both, or is that just a lie?

“Yeah,” he says.

“Which is why I understand why you’re here. Are you sober?”

“Have been for a month now.”

“That’s good,” Tsumugi says, “look, I want to give you your job back. In fact, I suspected that you wouldn’t be gone long, so I kept it open. Do you want it?”

“I…I do,” Shuichi says, “but I don’t. I want to help Kokichi out with rent, and all that, but I don’t know if I’m ready to come back…here.”

“I understand that. I know it isn’t the same, but there are so many TV shows I like that have characters who have gone through what you’re going through. So what about…what about accepting a part time role? Say, three or four days a week? Same job you used to do, but it’ll give you time to work through the issues you have about Kaito’s…you know…”

“You’d do that?”

“Yes,” Tsumugi says.

“Then…yes. Yes, absolutely! I’d love to take my job back!”

“Wonderful. Starting on Monday?”

“Yes please!”

“Alright, Shuichi.”

When he leaves the office, he resists the urge to punch the air in victory. Instead, he dials Kokichi’s number in his phone.

He picks up after a few rings.

“Hey,” Kokichi says.

“I got it! I got my job back,” Shuichi says.

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“It’s only part-time, but it’s a start!”

“That’s wonderful. I’m proud of you.”

“I love you,” Shuichi says, trying to hide the excitement in his voice.

“I love you too. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah.”

Putting the phone down, Shuichi gets in his car. He knows where he’s driving.

Because he’s only working part-time, he wants something else to fill the void. When he pulls up outside Himiko, Angie, and Gonta’s house, he turns his phone off and knocks on the door.

Gonta answers.

“Oh,” he says, “Shuichi.”

“Hey! Can I, uh, can I come in?”

“Of course.”

He walks inside and Gonta shuts the door. Standing awkwardly in the hallway, he tries to hold onto the positive feeling that he’s been stifling since the meeting with Tsumugi.

“Is Angie in?” Shuichi asks.

“Yes,” Gonta replies, “she’s in her studio.”

“Can I go through?”

“Of course!”

He walks through to Angie’s studio, where she’s painting on a canvas with her headphones on. Cautiously, he walks closer, until she realises that she’s not alone and takes one of her headphones out.

“Hey, Shuichi,” she says, “it’s nice to see you!”

“Hey, Angie. I was wondering if you could help me?”

“Of course! How?”

“I want to learn how to paint.”

“Of course I can help!”

He doesn’t even realise that time is passing, before she’s helping him into a painting apron and pulling out a canvas for him. It rests on a stand at the perfect height, and he’s desperate to release his emotions onto it. She teaches him how to mix colours, and the best way to present anatomy in a painting, and suddenly, he’s doing it. He’s _doing it,_ and it doesn’t look half bad. He works on a galaxy-themed background, eventually moving onto depicting a woman staring up at the stars, and then painting himself and Kokichi gently in the foreground.

“Wow, Shuichi,” Angie says, “you’re a natural!”

“T-Thank you,” he stutters.

“We should do this more often!”

“I’d like that.”

And so it becomes that Shuichi goes round to Angie’s every week, and they work on another painting together. Sometimes, he just gets his feelings out onto a canvas, and other times, he paints over one of her sketches in an attempt to improve himself. Either way, it’s a helpful outlet for all his sadness.

Occasionally, Maki comes round and brings them tea in the studio, complimenting both of their paintings. He likes it when she’s in the studio, drinking coffee and talking about how she loves their art; or, at least, he hopes that it’s helping her in the same way that it’s helping him.

Eventually, he feels confident enough to work on a canvas painting that he wants to show to Kokichi. Angie helps him with the background - a simple sunset on the beach. It’s somewhere that he wants to go when he’s better, if he can even define what ‘better’ means.

When he’s done, she teaches him how to preserve the oil paints, and then he’s clutching a canvas in his hands and stepping out of the house.

Turning back, he mouths “thank you,” to Angie, and she blows him a kiss in return.

Even though the drive home passes at least two alcohol stores, Shuichi ignores them and keeps on driving until he reaches the apartment that he shares with Kokichi. Opening the door, he smells something gorgeous - Kokichi has taken up cooking, and it seems that their dinner tonight will be amazing.

“Hey,” he says, kissing Kokichi on the lips.

“Hey.”

“I’ve got a little present for you.”

“Oh?”

Shuichi holds out the canvas, and Kokichi takes it gently. He surveys it, taking in every brushstroke, before he puts it down on the kitchen counter and envelops Shuichi in a hug.

“I love you,” he says, “and that’s not a lie.”

That night, Shuichi goes to sleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

One month later, he stands nervously in a large room, looking at his paintings on the wall. All of them show Kokichi in some form, be it abstract or in the background. Whilst the themes of his artwork are trauma, recovery, and Kaito, he can’t help but put his boyfriend in each one, if only as an _easter egg._ It reminds him of where he came from.

And right now, it’s his first art show. He’s managed to get a space in a city gallery, and he gulps down anxiety, worrying that nobody will come. Staring at his artwork on the wall, he wonders if it’s even worth seeing, if it’s worth putting everything on the line for; if this works out, he might be able to quit his office job and make enough money as a painter.

Anxiously, he looks towards the entrance.

And then he sees them. Kokichi, Maki, Rantaro, Korekiyo, Angie, Himiko, Gonta, Tsumugi. Even two women, who he recognises only from a bar on New Year’s Eve, and remembers to be called Kaede and Kirumi. He knows that Rantaro must have brought them along.

People are here to see him, see his work.

He will make them proud.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked! Please leave a comment if you did :^)
> 
> Title from 'Dramaturgy'.


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